The world moved.
Rylan struck first—fast, lethal, years of training condensed into a single blow aimed at Kael's shoulder. His practice sword sliced the air with a sharp whistle.
Kael saw it coming. He dove sideways, the strike passing inches from his head. Rolled, rose into guard.
"Fast," someone muttered in the crowd.
Rylan wasted no time. He advanced with a three-strike combo—high, low, mid—each faster than the last. Kael blocked the first, dodged the second, but the third connected with his side.
Explosive pain. Kael felt something crack—not break, but close. He staggered back, gasping.
"First blood to Rylan!" someone shouted.
But there was no blood. Just the brutal impact of wood on flesh.
Rylan pressed his advantage. His movements were perfect—forms polished by years under Master Torin. Every strike calculated to disable, not kill, but definitely to win.
Kael retreated. Blocking, dodging, surviving.
I can't beat him in skill. But I don't need to.
He blocked another strike, the impact vibrating up his arms. Backed up two more steps.
"That all?" Rylan asked, voice steady. "Thought you wanted a duel."
Kael smiled. Small. Cold.
"Just warming up."
He counterattacked—a quick strike at Rylan's legs. His brother blocked easily, riposted with a blow Kael barely evaded.
Steel clanged against steel. The crowd watched in tense silence.
Kael waited for his moment. Blocked. Retreated. Blocked again.
And spoke.
"This how you fight when you want to impress the girls?"
Rylan glared, brow furrowing. "What?"
"I mean," Kael dodged another strike, "all this show. For someone in particular?"
Rylan attacked harder. "Shut up and fight."
"Worked on Carmen, didn't it?" Kael blocked, counterattacked weakly. "The heroic rescue. Very impressive."
Rylan's next strike came faster. Less controlled. Kael felt it—the first crack in his discipline.
"I said shut up."
"Or what?" Kael retreated, smile widening. "You'll hit harder? You already are."
Rylan growled, unleashing a combo that forced Kael back to the edge of the combat area. The crowd parted.
"Get him, Rylan!"
"Finish it!"
But other voices started rising. From Kael's group, strategically scattered in the crowd.
"Typical," Favius said, loud enough. "Uses his strength to impress."
"What are they talking about?" someone whispered.
"Don't you know?" Mika replied. "Rylan rescued a servant girl. Very convenient."
Kael dodged another strike, counterattacked—landed a touch on Rylan's arm. Not hard, but enough.
"Woman-stealer," Kael said, voice casual as if remarking on the weather.
Rylan froze. "What did you say?"
"Stealer." Kael spun his sword. "Girl-thief. Or do you prefer 'bastard'?"
Rylan's face hardened. "I didn't steal anything."
"Didn't you?" Kael tilted his head. "Then what was it? Saved her from Cedric just out of kindness?"
He attacked—fast, exploiting the distraction. His sword struck Rylan's shoulder.
Rylan didn't feel it. Counterattacked with renewed fury, blows raining on Kael like hail. Each wilder than the last.
"I saved her because it was right!"
"Sure." Kael blocked, retreated. "And her being pretty had nothing to do with it."
"You—!"
Rylan's strike crashed into Kael's guard with such force it hurled him backward. Kael rolled, rose, blood dripping from his lip where he'd bitten it.
Real first blood.
The crowd roared.
"That bastard stole her from Fabricio!" someone from Kael's group shouted.
"Fabricio?" another muttered.
"Yeah! The servant! He took her from the guy she was with!"
"That thief took her to fuck her!"
Murmurs spread like fire. Voices blending, comments growing.
"Is that true?"
"I heard there was someone else first…"
"Rylan used his position…"
"But he's the heir, he can do what he wants, right?"
"That doesn't make him less of a bastard."
Rylan heard it all. Every word. Every accusation.
"LIES!" he shouted at the crowd. "ALL DAMN LIES!"
But his focus was gone. His attacks, once precise, now erratic. Powerful, yes—each blow could break bones—but predictable.
Kael saw it. Felt it.
There.
He dodged a wild swing. Counterattacked—landed on Rylan's ribs. Hard.
Rylan grunted in pain but pressed on.
"Already fucked her?" Kael asked, voice venomous. "Or still courting?"
"SHUT UP!"
Rylan's shout echoed across the yard.
And his Aether ignited.
Blue electric, bright and instinctive. Small sparks danced around his hands, his sword. His next strike came charged with energy that shouldn't be there.
The yard fell silent.
Kael saw it coming—faster than humanly possible without Aether. Raised his sword to block—
The impact was devastating.
Kael's practice sword splintered in two. The force lifted him off the ground and hurled him three meters back. He landed hard, air fleeing his lungs.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Rylan looked at his hands. Aether still glowed faintly around his fingers.
Horror crossed his face.
"I… used Aether." His voice barely a whisper. "I broke the rules."
His sword dropped to his side. His guard vanished. He stood there, processing what he'd done.
I lost. I cheated. I lost the duel.
Honor—that damn honor Varen had drilled into him since childhood—paralyzed him.
Kael rose slowly. Blood dripped from his nose, mixing with his lip. His side screamed in agony. Bruises already forming on his arms, his back.
But his mind was clear. Crystal.
He took a spare practice sword from the ground—someone had left it nearby.
His own Aether ignited. Second-layer Apprentice—weak compared to Rylan's, barely a faint blue glow around his hands.
But enough.
He charged the sword with what he could. The weapon trembled slightly with pale blue energy.
Rylan looked up. Saw Kael approaching. Saw the intent.
But he didn't raise his sword. Didn't defend.
I lost the duel. It's his right.
Kael closed the distance in three strides.
And struck.
The Aether-charged sword crashed into the side of Rylan's head with a sickening crack.
Rylan collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. Unconscious before he hit the ground.
Absolute silence.
Kael stood there, breathing hard, blood on his face, sword still in hand.
Then someone shouted.
"WINNER!"
"KAEL WON!"
But other voices:
"Wait, he used Aether too—"
"But Rylan used it first—"
"Both cheated!"
"Rylan broke the rules first!"
Kael's group took control.
"KAEL WON!" Favius roared. "The heir cheated first!"
"RYLAN WAS THE CHEATER!"
"KAEL! KAEL! KAEL!"
The chant grew. Spread. The crowd—that living, malleable thing—swept along by the moment.
"Kael won!"
"He beat the heir!"
"Incredible!"
Details were lost in the noise. Who used Aether first, under what circumstances, whether the duel was fair—none of it mattered now.
Only the image: Rylan on the ground, Kael standing.
Winner and loser.
Master Torin pushed through the crowd, expression stormy. He looked at unconscious Rylan, then at Kael.
"Both broke the rules," he declared, voice cutting the noise. "Both used Aether."
Pause. The yard waited.
"But Rylan used it first."
Another pause, heavier.
"The duel goes to Kael."
And with those words, the narrative was sealed. Protests, doubts, questions didn't matter. Master Torin—an authority—had declared the outcome.
The roar that followed was deafening.
Lyssara watched from the periphery, arms crossed so tightly her knuckles were white.
She had seen everything. Every calculated insult. Every designed provocation. How Kael had used the crowd as a weapon. How he'd pushed and pushed until Rylan lost control.
And then exploited it.
That cheater.
Her mind processed fast:
Calculated provocation. Insults to destabilize. Crowd as weapon. Pushed Rylan until he broke the rules. And then…
That dirty bastard.
She saw Kael in the yard's center, surrounded by admirers. Saw the blood on his face, bruises forming. Saw the barely contained satisfaction in his eyes.
He didn't win with strength. He won with… this.
She couldn't decide if she was impressed or horrified. Maybe both.
It doesn't make sense. Rylan is better. Stronger. How…
But she understood. Of course she did.
He didn't win the duel. He won the narrative.
She saw Rylan helped to sit by two guards. Blood dripped from his temple where Kael's sword had connected. He was conscious but dazed, eyes unfocused.
Kael is more dangerous than I thought.
She slipped away before anyone noticed her expression.
"Two guards! Take him to the infirmary!" Torin ordered.
Two men approached, helping Rylan stand. His older brother swayed, hand to his head. Blood stained his fingers.
His eyes found Kael through the celebrating crowd.
Humiliation. Fury. Incomprehension.
He manipulated me. Provoked me until… until…
Kael held his gaze. No smile. No mockery. Just… looking.
Rylan was led from the yard, each step unsteady. The crowd parted, some with pity in their eyes, others with something darker.
Satisfaction at seeing the mighty fall.
Kael remained in the training yard's center.
His group surrounded him first—Favius, Mika, the other initiates—voices loud with celebration.
"You did it!"
"You beat the heir!"
"No one's ever done that!"
"You're incredible!"
Back-slaps that made his bruises protest. Fists raised. Victory laughter.
Then others approached. Initiates not in his group. Some minor knights. Even servants who'd lingered for the spectacle.
All wanting to be near the one who'd done the impossible.
"How did you do it?"
"I thought Rylan was invincible…"
"Kael Drayvar! Remember that name!"
Kael let the words wash over him. No wide grin—that would be too much. Just a small, controlled smile. The smile of someone who'd won but stayed humble.
Inside, satisfaction was a living thing. Warm and intoxicating.
I did it.
His body ached. Every breath agony in his side. Dried blood cracked on his face. Bruises would bloom tomorrow in purple and yellow.
But he had won.
He looked at the faces around him. Faces that once ignored him, saw him as the invisible younger son. The weak one. The one who didn't matter.
Now they looked different.
With respect. With caution. With what might have been fear.
They see me.
The crowd kept celebrating. Recreating duel moments, exaggerating some details, inventing others.
"Did you see when he dodged that strike? Incredible!"
"And when Rylan used Aether, I thought it was over…"
"But Kael got up. Like a demon."
"A demon," someone else repeated, tasting the word.
Stories were already shifting. Growing. Turning into legend.
And Kael knew by dinner, everyone in the mansion would know. By tomorrow, vassals would whisper. By next week, the news would reach other territories.
Kael Drayvar defeated Rylan Drayvar in a duel.
Details would be lost. Provocations, dirty tactics, who used Aether first.
Only the result would remain.
Victory.
Master Torin watched from a pillar's shadow, arms crossed. Expression unreadable—neither approval nor disgust. Just… assessment.
Kael met his gaze for a moment. Torin nodded once. Small. Barely perceptible.
Acknowledgment.
Afternoon sun bathed the yard in golden light. The crowd kept celebrating, voices blending into an indistinct roar of triumph.
And Kael Drayvar stood at the center.
Bleeding. Bruised. Victorious.
No longer invisible.
No longer forgotten.
Finally seen.
Recognition tasted like iron and satisfaction. Like blood and victory.
And he knew, with absolute certainty, it had been worth it.
Every damn second had been worth it.